As I See It
by Radioactive Ferret
Summary: A one-year, holiday-by-holiday look at Josef's thoughts during said holidays. Slight OOC, but I'm working on that. This may be offensive to some people...
1. New Year's

Disclaimer: Not mine

Rating: PG13

Pairings: None, though I hint at everything.

Summary: Josef rants about various things during the holidays. May be a bit OOC, since this is my first fic. Reviews on OOC-ness are appreciated.

* * *

AS I SEE IT…  
Chapter 1  
Not Getting Any Older…

"Why do they do this to us?" I wondered aloud, not expecting or wanting an answer.

But, of course, when does that ever happen?

"Do what?"

I rolled my eyes, sinking deeper into the cushions of Mick's couch. "That." I pointed at the screen. "Why do they air this crap?" He looked at the TV.

"Oh, that."

"Yeah." I don't even know why we were watching the New Year's celebration in Times Square in the first place. Both of us had better things to do—well, at least, I know _I_ did. Mick… I don't know about him. Sometimes I think he'd catch that human 'forgetfulness' syndrome if I didn't keep him on his toes. Those humans are a bad influence on him.

Though I must admit, the stupidity of New Year's celebrations amuse me. All humans do is try to fight time. They race the clock like it's chasing them with a machete, but when it says 'Hey, guess what? You're one year closer to death!' they jump up and down and watch a shiny disco ball drop in New York so they can kiss and make resolutions and whatnot. Then, once they sleep the champagne-induced hangover off and get over the fact that they kissed that ugly stalker creature while being caught up in the 'it's a whole new year' moment, they're right back on their anti-aging creams, diets, vitamin supplements and anti-bacterial soaps in hopes of prolonging their lives and looking younger while they do it.

Correct me if I'm wrong, but isn't that a lot like a cow putting on lipstick, stilettos, and expensive perfume? Or is this some natural instinct I haven't heard of yet? Certain butterflies that taste absolutely delicious to birds disguise themselves as monarch butterflies, which must taste like shit because birds avoid them.

Well, maybe that's not the same thing. Because I don't care what you say, artificial preservatives do _not_ make certain women taste any better. Worse, actually, if you get right down to it. I lose count of the number of times I've bitten into a woman I thought was a natural beauty—and turned out to be a bleached-blond, shake-and-baked, twenty-five cent prostitute.

I swear Mick brought her over on purpose. He derives some sick pleasure from seeing me spit up vile blood when he feeds me something disgusting. And I must say, I've kind of lost my taste for tan women since that incident. I still need a way to get back at him.

Maybe if I drained his little pet's blood and switched it out with that disgusting expired blood he keeps at his place. Of course, I'd steal a sip or two. Even Mick's prostitute prank couldn't quell my taste for blondes.

A better idea! Maybe I could switch the blood with V8 juice. Then I'd be a bit less likely to end up like Coraline.

"Hey, Josef?"

I looked up. Must've zoned out again. But hey, I can't help that there's nothing but crap on television these days.

"Aren't you gonna watch the countdown?"

I sighed irritably. "If it amuses you, then why not?"

I watched the screen with mild interest. 5… 4… 3… 2… 1…

IT'S THE SAME AS LAST YEAR!!

Is it too much to ask for the Y2K bug to strike? Maybe a bit late, but better late than never!

"Josef?"

Someone's talkative tonight. "What?"

"Happy New Year."

I stared at him in disbelief. "Not you too!" I said with a groan. He just smiled as he took a sip of blood from my champagne glass.

"Just thought I'd say it."

Rolling my eyes, I snatched his glass and drained it in one gulp. "Mick?"

He arched an eyebrow to show he was listening.

"If you try to kiss me, I'll stake you."

Grinning, he handed me my glass. "Don't worry. I know you hate holidays."

* * *

Next time: Valentine's Day! Tune in!


	2. Valentine's Day

Disclaimer: Still not mine

Rating: PG13

Pairings: None, though I hint at everything.

Summary: Josef rants about various things during the holidays. May be a bit OOC, since this is my first fic. Reviews on OOC-ness are appreciated.

* * *

AS I SEE IT…  
Chapter 2  
International Sleep-With-Me Day

The day was cooler than most that week, but hey, what do I care? My freezer gets colder than the outside weather. Either way, it was nice. At least, it WAS. Until a certain someone had to call me and remind me of the last thing I needed to remember...

After about the fifth ring, I answered the phone. "What?" I snapped irritably. If you couldn't tell, I don't like dealing with people when I'm in my 'happy place'.

"Josef, if you don't want me here, just tell me to go away already," said Mick through the phone. "I'm sick of banging on the door."

Oh. Him. Ah, well, he's not _that_ bad, all things considered. I unlocked the door, somewhat grateful that he hadn't decided to knock the door down again. "Ah, Mick. What brings you here at this ungodly hour?"

"Sorry, did I wake you?" he asked, glancing at the clock. "Although you're usually still up this early..."

"No, I just wasn't listening."

"Figures. You've probably forgotten what today was, so I got this to remind you." It was then that I noticed the box he carried. Crap. It's a holiday today, isn't it?

I tried my best to look innocent. "Really? Did you?" Again with the gifts. I'm not a big fan of them, mostly because the original meaning has been commercialized beyond mortal or immortal comprehension. Then you get the few people who actually know how you feel about this—like Mick—and they try to get you something out of the mainstream. Problem is, he's good at that. I'm not. I have no clue what to get people, and I'll be damned to listening to Brittany Spears CDs if I'll _ever_ get someone a chocolate Easter bunny or a box of sweetheart candies. The cliché is just sickening.

"Here. Something that hasn't been commercialized to hell yet." The one reason I never get tired of Mick St. John (in the long run) is because he knows me better than anyone else I've ever met. I could tell that just by looking at the gift he'd brought.

"You got me a bat?" I asked, peering into the box.

He nodded, obviously glad I was happy. "Not just any bat, though," he said, grinning. "It's a _vampire_ bat."

I laughed. "That is the most original thing you've ever done."

"I don't know whether to feel happy or offended."

"Feel happy and we'll say my eternal gratitude is your gift." I thought for a moment. "Plus any one favor you need done in the future."

His eyes sparkled suddenly as I uttered those Doomsday words.

"_Any_ favor?"

I hoped the conversation wasn't going where I thought it was going. I mean, sure I could sleep with Mick. I'm not going to deny that he's what teenagers these days would call 'hot'. But if something were to get messed up, eternity is an awful long time to feel awkward around your best friend.

"Nothing you'd see in an adult film, Mick," I said warily.

"What?" he yelped, recoiling. "Josef, get your mind out of the gutter! I just wanted you to open your gift from Beth."

"Oh," I said, feeling slightly stupid. "Right."

He stared at me weird as he handed me the frilly pink bag that positively _reeked_ of rose-scented perfume. "Just because it's Valentine's Day doesn't mean all gifts are X-rated advances."

"Oh, come on. What the hell do think Valentine's Day is all about?" I snapped. "A guy acts civil on the outside and buys a girl a one dollar box of exotic chocolates from a five-and-dime because he assumes she'll sleep with him if he does. It's like the 'legal prostitution for the rest of America' day."

"No it isn't, Josef."

"It is, and you know it! People could at least be upfront about it and get one of those condom-rose bouquets instead of a necklace and a card that secretly means 'screw me'." He muttered something under his breath as I pulled the paper out of Beth's gift bag. "Oh, how thoughtful," I said, snickering. "Chocolates!"

"She put blood in the center. She made some for me too..." Mick shrugged. "Not the best, but don't tell her I said that."

"Wouldn't dream of it. Perhaps I could give her some classified information for one of her stories in return..." Suddenly, a thought struck me. "Did you get her anything?"

"Yeah..." he said doubtfully, while (unless my eyes deceived me) blushing slightly.

Now I was curious. "What was it?"

Nope, definitely not imagining that blush. "A necklace she's been looking at..." he muttered.

At first, I didn't get it. "That was... thoughtful I guess." Then it hit me. "Oh! Mick, I was just kidding about that, you know."

"Yeah, let's go with that," he said.

Next up, St. Patrick's Day! Tune in!


	3. St Patrick's Day

Disclaimer: Not mine

Rating: PG13

Pairings: None, though I hint at everything.

Summary: Josef rants about various things during the holidays. May be a bit OOC, since this is my first fic. Reviews on OOC-ness are appreciated.

* * *

AS I SEE IT…  
Chapter 3  
Not Your Holiday!

I knew there was something wrong the minute Beth walked in. I should have picked up on it earlier, especially when I saw the bottles green beer in Mick's fridge.

"What the hell are you wearing?" I asked Beth incredulously. It was the perfect phrase for the moment. While she was still wearing her usual skin-tight, painted-on jeans, she also wore a tight green shirt with a clover print, green ribbons in her hair, a jade earring-and-necklace set and a button pin that said 'Kiss me! I'm Irish!'

She looked confused for a moment, until my dear pal Mick clarified the situation for her, "Josef doesn't celebrate holidays."

"Oh!" she said. "Then you don't know about St. Patrick's Day, Josef?"

"I know about it," I replied. "It's just not my holiday." Mick shot me a 'don't crush her spirits' look, but I chose to ignore it when she asked me to clarify. "It's like this, Beth," I said, making a show of getting comfortable on Mick's couch. "You live in America. Not Ireland. You hail form the lovely city of El Pueblo de Nuestra Señora la Reina de los Angeles de Porciúncula—"

She blinked. "Where?"

"LA," I sighed. "And most certainly _not_ Kilkenny, Dublin or Cork. I don't know how much farther from Ireland you can get."

"Well, I think I'm part Irish," said Beth thoughtfully.

"Yeah, isn't everyone," I commented sarcastically. "You know this isn't even a real holiday, though, don't you? It's just an excuse for humans around the world to do what the Irish get to do every day."

"Which is?"

I grinned in glee. "Drown themselves in green beer and whiskey until they're drinking out of the same toilet they just hurled in."

"Sick!" Beth exclaimed. "You're missing the whole point of the holiday!"

"That, and Cinco de Mayo…" added Mick snidely.

"Whose side are you on, Mick?" snapped Beth.

He shrugged. "I'm just saying…"

Beth grabbed her hair in exasperation. "You two are impossible! This is my favorite holiday; _why _do you feel the need to ruin it for me?"

"Well, here's to holiday spirit, then!" I said, tossing her a beer. "Might as well get started."

Instead of snapping at me again, however, Beth simply grinned. "Fine, then," she said, then thrust the bottle neck into her cleavage, twisted sharply, and raised her open bottle in a mock toast. "Bottoms up!"

I swear, Mick's jaw practically hit the floor. But that wasn't the best part. I had expected Beth to choke or gasp for air after the first swig, but much to my surprise, she drained the whole bottle in one long gulp.

"I did some competitive drinking in college," she said, pulling a bottle-opener necklace out from under her shirt. "I learned a few tricks."

"Why are you carrying around a bottle-opener?" asked Mick.

"Why don't you ask Josef?" she replied shortly, snatching another beer from the fridge. "_He_ seems to have all the answers, doesn't he?"

And thus, I prove my point. St. Patrick's Day is the one day when drinking your worries away is socially acceptable. But that's not what bothers me. I didn't catch on to it until last year, when Mick and I paid a visit to Chinatown and EVERY SINGLE PERSON was wearing green!

That's right, _Chinese_ people were celebrating St. Patrick's Day! Instead of spring rolls and rice wine, the restaurants were serving potatoes and green beer! And to make it worse, kids kept running up and pinching us because we 'weren't wearing green!' In a way, it was kinda funny because some guy used the 'no green' thing as an excuse to grope Mick. He didn't take too kindly to it, and I can only guess what he did to make that human scamper like a cockroach.

Actually, I guess this is a bit hypocritical of me. Sure, I used to celebrate. I used to feed off drunken humans and get trashed from the poisons in their blood, and I remember passing out next to various partygoers and drinking off hangovers under the bridges where hobos hung out. You can't get more natural blood than that.

However, I stopped pinching people once I realized my name was most definitely not Irish. Then, once Mick got those 'morals', I kinda stopped getting thoroughly trashed. And once he met Beth, we stopped celebrating altogether. In short, I have no problem with the Irish getting drunk and singing their drinking songs in a local tavern; that's good, that's fine, I have no problem.

But it's when German, Chinese, Russian, Japanese, French, British, Canadian and Mexican people get together, dress in green and pinch each other on the ass while singing '99 Bottles of Beer on the Wall' that I get just the slightest bit annoyed.

Beth was on her fifth beer by the time Mick's clock struck seven. "Ohhhh, shit!" she slurred, slamming the bottle down and not even noticing when it fell off the edge of the table. "I'm late for work!"

"You aren't seriously driving in like this, are you?" asked Mick, amused.

But Beth obviously didn't realize just how shit-faced she was. "I'm not drunk, Mick," she said, hiccupping. "I'm perfectly fine." As if trying to prove her point, she stood up gracefully….

…and passed out just as gracefully onto the floor.

"She's fine, but not in the way she meant," I commented. "Are you going to take her home, or can I draw on her face with a sharpie?"

"No," he said, probably answering both. "Knowing her temper, she'll want more when she wakes up."

"Friggen alcoholic."


	4. Easter

Okay, I know I'm going to hell for this chapter. But in my defense, I honestly think this is how a vampire would feel about religion. Y'know, the whole immortality thing... Anywho, these are by no means my views on Easter. I respect all religions (even if I am not a follower), and I most _certainly_ do not promote pissing people off by talking shit about their beliefs. I may have crossed the line with the December 8th joke and comparing Jesus' suffering to genocides, so I apologize for that. I am trying for a timeline perspective on Josef with the latter, but I may have gone too far. I'm adding a warning for the upcoming religious and otherwise 'rude to bash' holidays that I am about to make fun of.

Disclaimer: Not mine

Rating: PG13

Pairings: None, though I hint at everything.

Summary: Josef rants about various things during the holidays. May be a bit OOC, since this is my first fic. Reviews on OOC-ness are appreciated.

**Warning: This work of fiction may contain material that is _offensive_ to some people. If bashing religious and non-religious holidays bothers you, you have been _warned_. I would like to remind the readers that this fanfic does _not_ reflect my opinions on any of the following: religion, politics, life, death, love and any other topic you don't like people to piss on. I am simply trying to write as a _fictional character_. Apologies in advance to all those who are offended.**

* * *

AS I SEE IT…  
Chapter 4  
Zombie Jesus Day

I've decided to name my new bat. Why name her, you ask?

_Because I'm friggen' lonely!!_

I hate it when Mick takes his little appetizer along on a case without me! So now, I'm stuck in the house with Coraline the Bat. She's actually quite lovely company, once you get past the fact she likes to feed off cows and carries rabies.

Anyways, I was trying to get Coraline Jr. to bite that one guy who monitors the security cameras (Either I forgot his name, or else I never knew it. Who cares?), when the news he was watching suddenly caught my attention.

"Yes, Bill, it's a lovely Easter Sunday. Today will be sunny with a high of seventy and a low of forty-five…"

Easter.

Please do not get me started on Easter.

"Did you need something?" George (Oh! I remembered his name!) asked.

"Uh, no," I replied lamely, caught off guard by the holiday news.

"Oh. Well, then, Happy Easter." I shrugged at his well-wishing. Zombie Jesus Day always has amused me, and I often find myself wishing I could've been back in biblical times to see it happen. "Are you doing anything to celebrate?" he asked.

"Yeah, sure," I replied sarcastically. "Painting chicken eggs, shooting rabbits, the whole shebang."

George rolled his eyes. "That's not the whole point of Easter," he chided, missing my sarcasm. "The point is to celebrate the return of our Lord, Jesus Christ."

"Okay, George… can I call you Beth? Great." He blinked, confused like the poor human he was. "I'm sure you understand what the word 'commercialized' means, so I won't explain it to you. Just to save some time, I'll say outright that there is not a damn person out there who would remember Easter if they didn't get a friggen chocolate bunny from someone else."

"They most certainly would!" George argued. "Just because you've lost sight of the true meaning of Easter doesn't mean the whole world is hopeless!"

"I just call em as I see em," I commented lightly, stealing the seat next to him. "And I don't celebrate religious holidays, so don't go spouting any religious crap about some prophet rising from the dead. If I want to hear about that, I'll watch Resident Evil."

George glared daggers at me. "He wasn't a zombie; He was the Son of God!"

"Zombie." His left hand clenched on the arm of his chair, and I decided to switch topics before he forced me to kill him. "And what's with the eggs? And rabbits and chickens… Seriously, did someone say, '_Oh no! Quick, Jesus is back! Paint the eggs so he thinks he's dreaming! Oh, and tell him they came out of a rabbit's ass! That'll throw him off!_' Honestly!"

George steepled his fingers, grinning as though he'd just won a game of sorts. "That's the commercialism you were talking about earlier. It has nothing to do with the rising of our Lord and Savior—"

"Could you just say 'Zombie-Man' or some shit instead of drawing it out?" I exclaimed in exasperation.

"Sorry. But other than the commercialism, Easter is one of the most important holidays of the year! You can't deny _that_."

I arched an eyebrow. "Oh yes I can. The only holiday I deem celebration-worthy is December 8th."

"What's that?"

Grinning, I replied, "The date of the Virgin Mary's immaculate conception."

For a moment, he looked shocked. "I thought you weren't religious?" he asked doubtfully.

I laughed, and kicked my heels up onto the table. "I'm not. I just think it's funny that people still believe she's a Virgin. I consider December 8th to be 'get knocked up and lie about it' day."

"That's blasphemy!" shouted George. "How dare you say that about the Blessed Virgin?!"

"She wasn't a freaking virgin!" I argued. "Zombie-Man's father was probably some lover of hers—"

"He was the Son of God! How else would he rise from the dead after dying on the cross for our sins?"

"Easy. He didn't."

I love pissing people off. Call it 'playing with your food' if you must, but irritating humans is one of my favorite pastimes. Mick used to be easy to irritate, but now I have to go to extremes to get any acknowledgement.

Either way, I can't help myself! Easter is just so… well, stupid! Everyone claims to be celebrating the zombie-like rising of a dead prophet who died without any intention of staying dead. They say his suffering is payment enough for the sins of all of mankind, but after you've seen what I've seen… well, let's say his suffering probably was enough to buy forgiveness for the men who killed him. People act like he was the only one to ever be crucified. Well, is it just me, or did the same thing happen to 6,600 slaves after they revolted with Spartacus? Where's their place in history? They're numbers now. Their names weren't remembered.

'_Well, maybe it's because they didn't rise from the dead!_' Bullshit. God must've been more creative than that! There were thousands of worse ways for people to die. Sure, the newer ones are a bit worse, but I acknowledge that the 'justice' system was rather limited.

Anyways, I'm just at a loss as to why everyone says Jesus suffered the most pain ever, when there are people today being slowly tortured to death over a span of months or years, instead of a day or two. What about Cambodia, Germany, Bosnia, Iraq, Rwanda and Sudan (to name a few)? Billions of people suffered and died in indescribable ways, and everyone focuses on the 'resurrection' of someone who may not have even existed? Get your priorities straight, people! Easter is just…

Ugh.

You know, I could go on with this. I could rant for hours, but I'm just going to stop while I've still got your attention. I'm just going to get a drink, change the channel, watch a movie, call Mick… I dunno. Anything.

"OUCH!"

I snatched up Coraline Jr. as she began lapping up the blood from George's arm. "Oh, you might want to have that checked out," I said sweetly. "She has rabies."

George went pale and fainted. I considered my options. Ah well, why not?

There's a reason why everyone working around here has AB- blood. And for such an ugly guy, I must admit, George was delicious.

* * *

Thank you for reading! Next up… April Fool's Day! 


	5. April Fool's Day

Disclaimer: Nope, not mine. But you'd know if it was.

Rating: This is PG13 for a reason, and if I could make it PG16 or something, I would.

Pairings: None, though I hint at everything.

Summary: Josef rants about the holidays throughout the year.

**Warning: This work of fiction may contain material that is **_**offensive**_** to some people. If bashing religious and non-religious holidays bothers you, you have been **_**warned**_**. I would like to remind the readers that this fanfic does **_**not**_** reflect my opinions on any of the following: religion, politics, life, death, love and any other topic you don't like people to piss on. I am simply trying to write as a **_**fictional character**_**. Apologies in advance to all those who are offended.

* * *

**

AS I SEE IT...  
Chapter 6  
Prank Wars

I was lying in my freezer, not asleep, but peacefully dozing off to the hum of the fan inside the casing. It was late March or early April, I think, and I really wish I hadn't killed George. He was fun to mess around with.

I relaxed further at the thought of messing with George's head, and was just about to slip into blissful oblivion when my phone rang and scared the living hell out of me.

Or, at least, it _would_ have if Hell had been living inside me. After letting out a string of colorful words as I slammed my head on the freezer door, I answered the phone with a characteristic 'What?'

"Did I wake you up, Josef?" asked Mick.

"No," I muttered, climbing out of the freezer. "What did you want?"

"Do I need an excuse every time I call you?"

I decided to entertain his pointless question with an answer. "Well, seeing as these conversations are pointless if you don't tell me why you called… yes."

He laughed shortly on the other line. "I suppose you're right… but I don't think you're going to like this." He paused for a moment. "It's about Beth."

"The tabloids? Do tell," I replied, excited. "What's she done now? Cocaine? Wardrobe malfunction?"

"Nothing like that," he assured me. "More fun, actually."

"Oh, really, do tell."

Either he didn't catch my sarcasm, or he just decided to ignore it. "It's April Fool's Day, and I thought you might be in the mood for a few pranks."

Now _that_ got my attention. "Continue," I said with mild interest.

"Beth's going to a baby shower for her boss tonight, and she invited me. I'm going to tell her I invited you because I don't like babies much, and while we're there, we can pull a few clever pranks on her."

"Really, Mick, I didn't think of you as the prankster type," I mused, plopping down on the couch like (I hate to admit it) a teenage girl talking with her gal pals. What have I become?

Mick laughed. "You know me better than that!" he said. "Me, I'm after revenge."

"For what?"

There was an uncomfortable silence before he answered, "Beth booby-trapped my place sometime while I was out. I've walked into twelve traps so far, and they're getting very annoying."

I almost died at the thought of Beth's pranks being good enough to ensnare Mick. "So, Brain," I began, doing my best Pinky imitation. "What're we doin' tonight?"

"Be at my place around seven and I'll explain everything." There was a sudden rush of static from Mick's line, followed by a colorful string of curses that would make a sailor blush. He'd probably just walked into another one of Beth's traps.

"Dare I ask?" I said snidely.

"I can't believe I just fell for that one!" he grumbled. "She put a rubber band on the sink sprayer."

He hung up on me just as I fell off the couch, laughing my ass off.

* * *

That night, I arrived at Mick's place at about 7:30, give or take a few minutes. Traffic was horrible, so I stopped for a drink after some teenage punk flipped me off. Once I opened the door, I immediately realized what he'd meant with the trap thing. I could smell it: all the type A blood was switched with B negative, styrofoam popcorn was about a foot deep in some places, there was the lingering smell of tomato juice from somewhere near the kitchen, and... why do I smell frogs? 

"She filled the dishwasher with them," he answered, and I suddenly realized I'd voiced my last realization.

"Well, kudos to her. At least she's original."

Mick rolled his eyes. "You'd be singing an entirely different tune if you took a swig of tomato juice without thinking."

"Couldn't you smell it?" I exclaimed. "Seriously... _tomatoes_."

"I wasn't thinking, alright? I was half-asleep!" Once my urge to laugh subsided, we got down to business.

"So, any ideas on how to get back at her?" I asked, trying to think of something really good. Sure, I had some ideas, but none were quite legal in the USA.

"Just one so far. While she's at the party, we can sneak out and rig her apartment."

Normally I would have agreed to this. I would have used all my pranking knowledge to aid in this quest. But then I opened the closet door to find some supplies, and an avalanche of water balloons fell on my head before I could even think about dodging. I was soaked. I was cold. And I was pissed.

And Mick was laughing like he'd inhaled a bottle of nitrous oxide. So now, rigging Beth's apartment was out of the question. I needed to do something better. Something ingenious. Something... something I just couldn't think of.

"We prank the party. We get her in front of her boss and coworkers," I said decisively. "You can do that. _I'll_ rig her apartment."

For a second, Mick looked apprehensive. "Nothing too terrible, Josef," he warned. "Keep it humane."

"Within the Geneva Convention?" He gave me a look that obviously meant 'yes', so I raised my hands in mock defeat. "Fine."

"No piranhas in her bathtub, no glass on the sheets, and nothing that would get her fired."

"Oh, take the fun out of living, why don't you?" I said in outrage. "It's not like she'd even get in the bathtub anyways!"

"Josef..."

I glared. "Fine. But other than those rules, I get to pull any prank I want."

"Done," he said. "Now go grab some dry clothes from upstairs. We have to be at that party in twenty minutes."

Gratefully, I trudged up the stairs, leaving foot-shaped puddles in my wake. Okay, so maybe I wasn't allowed to pull ant _good_ pranks. That didn't mean I didn't have any back-up plans. I'd probably need to make a stop at the store, but I was betting I'd be able to double Beth's pranks in less than a quarter of the time she used.

And, what's to say I couldn't pull a prank on my good ol' pal, Mick? We've never celebrated April Fool's Day before, but that was probably because we spend so much time annoying the hell out of each other every day. Why set up a special day for the things we hate about each other?

* * *

The party was, in a word, dull, and in a phrase, boring as shit. Apparently alcohol is a bad topic around expectant mothers, as well as the topic of birth defects. Well, honestly, you can't blame me! For my first ever baby shower, I think it went pretty well. 

That is, until I asked if we were supposed to say 'good luck pushing that thing out of your vagina'. I was then indirectly asked to leave, meaning Beth asked Mick to 'do something about him, would you?' He offered to take me home, since I left my car at his place. We got some funny looks from a few of the younger women, and I began to wonder if a guy can say _any_thing without a chick making some sexual innuendo. Apparently not, I realized, as one of them giggled.

"What's the point of these things?" I asked Mick as we exited the party. "They're clearly not meant for guys. Only women understand the hormonal tendencies of other women, so _we _should be excused from this crap."

"Yeah, well 'we' did not just ask Beth's boss how a baby's head fits through—"

"I know, I know. Can we prank Beth now?"

Mick rolled his eyes. "Seeing as Beth will get fired if we ruin the party any more than you already did? Fine, sure, do it."

We drove in silence for the next ten minutes, and I had the nagging feeling that he was just the slightest bit irritated with me. Oh well. I had bigger fish to fry.

I was in and out of Beth's apartment in five minutes and twenty-three seconds. Mick was kind enough not to ask what I'd done, but I knew he was curious, so I let him in on a few pranks.

"I filled her shower head with those Easter egg dying tablets, I put crickets _every_where, I put non-carnivorous marine life in her bathtub, and I put icy-hot on the toilet seat."

Mick grinned. "Don't tell me that's all."

"Oh ye of little faith!" I exclaimed, aghast. "Just wait until she finds the fish I stuck under her car's radiator."

* * *

The next morning, I was greeted by a rather unwelcome sight. I don't know how Beth got in my room, but she did not look pleased. "If this is about the baby shower, I apologize and—" 

"Save it, Josef," she snapped. "Mick is good, but he's not this good! I want you to round up _every last cricket_ in my apartment, and while you're at it, I think that chicken you let loose in the ceiling is dead, so you might want to get that too."

I winced. "Please don't talk so loud, Beth. You'll wake Coraline Jr."

"Who?" she said, confused. "Oh, nevermind. Josef, what the hell did you put in my coffee? Whatever it was—"

"Turned you piss blue, right?" I asked, amused. "Did it work?"

"Yes it worked, you jackass! Now get over to my place and clean that mess up!"

Me? Disarm the traps? I think not! She's going to find them the same way Mick and I did. "Well, I'll give you a clue on one of them," I said slyly. "Check your sink for hermit crabs."

* * *

Thank you for reading! Next... 4th of July! 


	6. Independance Day

Disclaimer: Nope, not mine. But you'd know if it was.

Rating: This is PG13 for a reason, and if I could make it PG16 or something, I would.

Pairings: None, though I hint at everything.

Summary: Josef rants about the holidays throughout the year.

**Warning: This work of fiction may contain material that is **_**offensive**_** to some people. If bashing religious and non-religious holidays bothers you, you have been **_**warned**_**. I would like to remind the readers that this fanfic does **_**not**_** reflect my opinions on any of the following: religion, politics, life, death, love and any other topic you don't like people to piss on. I am simply trying to write as a **_**fictional character**_**. Apologies in advance to all those who are offended.**

* * *

AS I SEE IT...  
Chapter 6  
"That's how Uncle Edwin went!"

I woke up that fated July morning with a feeling of childishness. The thought of firing off explosives in a crowded place tends to do that to me. Yes, you guessed it! July 4th, 2008. I wasn't in the states at the time of the Revolution, but I think it's safe to say that the celebrations now are much more fun than they were in 1776.

Why, you ask? Simple. Fireworks and firewater. Nothing is more fun than feeding off drunk humans, getting trashed, then lighting off Class C explosives in the presence of small children who hate loud noises.

Then again, that may just be my opinion. But that doesn't change the fact that modern explosives are more entertaining than the ways early Americans used to entertain themselves. I mean, what's so funny about a naked guy in a barrel dancing around singing 'Yankee Doodle" in a British accent? All right, I _might_ be entertained if I was drunk. But still… Naked guy… Explosives… I'd stick with explosives.

Until Mr. Buzzkill called me that evening as I was leaving to buy fireworks.

"Yeah, good luck with that, Josef," Mick said dully. "Fireworks are illegal in Los Angeles this year. They aren't selling them."

I could practically feel my heart shatter and fall into my stomach. "Are you sure?" I asked. "Not at all? Not even sparklers?"

"Nothing. I checked."

"Damnit!" I swore. "I _knew_ I should've driven out to Vegas last week!" I considered my options. I could buy the fireworks underground, but then again, the chances of my vampire associates having explosives are slim to none. Most of them don't like fire, and for good reasons. Another option would be to dig through the storage closet by the kitchen and find those fireworks I hid three years ago, but those are attached to some very bad memories I'd rather not think about.

"Before you start panicking, Josef, I think I can get us some if you're willing to cooperate," Mick said slyly.

"How so?"

"If you promise not to launch anything at any human under the age of thirteen—or Beth—I can break into the police station and steal all the contraband the police have managed to get their hands on."

I considered it for a moment. Throwing things at kids was half the fun of Independence Day, but I guess I could settle with the teenagers…

"Done. But the teenagers will be shown no mercy."

"Alright. I'll meet you later on tonight, then. Beth knows a good place in the desert where no one will find us."

I nodded. "Sounds good. I'll be launching bottle rockets off the roof if you need me."

And so, after hanging up the phone, I retrieved the bottle rockets from my storage closet and did just that for about an hour. Judging by the screams, I hit five women, two little kids, three old people, seven men, one drag queen, and a cat.

I almost added one vampire to my chart, but Mick dodged the bullet… or rocket… at the last second, and I had to settle for another old lady. "You're going to kill yourself with those, you know," he said, amused.

"I'm always careful with bottle rockets," I protested. "Well, I'm not careful to the point that it's safe for others to be around me when I'm firing them off, but I keep myself safe. After all, that's how Uncle Edwin went."

Mick sat next to me, rolling his eyes as he did so. "Do I even _want_ to know how your Uncle Edwin went?"

"Probably not," I said. "It was pretty gruesome."

He leaned back on the cement, obviously bored or tired. "I didn't know you had an uncle."

"Oh, he wasn't my uncle," I explained. "He was a friend of mine who watched out for lots of vamps when they were first turned—myself included. He kept us out of trouble for a few years, then set us loose."

"Like your sire, then?"

"Sort of. It was hard to get blood in the 1600's, especially with the Salem Witch Trials and such. He helped us out, and I kept in contact with him."

Mick winced. "When did he die?"

I shrugged casually. "Three years ago. He may have been clever, but he was still pretty stupid."

"What happened?"

I smiled feebly. "Do you know what ben wa balls are?"

"Aren't those the balls on a string you stick up your ass?"

I nodded. "Exactly. It started when Uncle Edwin got drunk and stuck a bottle rocket up his asshole. Long story short, methane lights up quite nicely."

"He farted when the bottle rocket went off?"

"Yup. A scorched GI tract to match his scorched arse."

Mick shook his head in disbelief. "What do ben wa balls have to do with this?"

"Well, the bottle rocket didn't kill him. And he was so trashed that he didn't even seem to notice. That's when he pulled out his secret weapon."

"Which was…?"

"I thought they were ben wa balls at first, but it turned out to be five round firecrackers on a fuse string."

Mick covered his eyes. "Don't tell me…"

"Yup. He dropped his pants and stuck all five up his ass, then lit the fuse." I sighed. "It was a mess."

"Ouch."

"You can say that again," I agreed. "He was a great guy… just a bit stupid."

Mick sat up, then pointed to the bag by the edge of the roof. "See that?" he said. "It's got all the explosives you could possibly want. What do you say we light them off?"

I grinned. "Mick, my friend, you read me like a book!"

* * *

NOTE: I would like to announce that MOONLIGHT IS BACK ON IN JUST A COUPLE WEEKS! WOO-HOO!! But, for the sake of this story, Mick shall remain a vampire. Sorry, Mick!


	7. Halloween

Disclaimer: Nope, not mine. But you'd know if it was.

Rating: This is PG13 for a reason, and if I could make it PG16 or something, I would.

Pairings: None, though I hint at everything.

Summary: Josef rants about the holidays throughout the year.

**Warning: This work of fiction may contain material that is **_**offensive**_** to some people. If bashing religious and non-religious holidays bothers you, you have been **_**warned**_**. I would like to remind the readers that this fanfic does **_**not**_** reflect my opinions on any of the following: religion, politics, life, death, love and any other topic you don't like people to piss on. I am simply trying to write as a **_**fictional character**_**. Apologies in advance to all those who are offended.**

* * *

AS I SEE IT...  
Chapter 7

I remember the days when dressing like a witch could get you hanged. Overlooking the fact that there was no actual physical profile for witches, however, I'm pretty sure that carrying a cauldron and a broom while wearing a green mask would qualify you as a witch in those times. Come to think of it, I knew a few Pagan women—witches, I guess—and they looked _nothing_ like the modern stereotypical portrayal of the Wicked Witch of the West.

I'm talking about—you guessed it!—Halloween. Another one of those human holidays Mick's little appetizer seems to enjoy so much. I thought she'd learned her lesson back in April, but oh no, not her. After the Easter incident, I bought myself a calendar with a big red X on each holiday Beth might try to ram down my throat, so this time, I was prepared when Mick called to invite me over.

"I know what today is, you know," I said drily. "And the answer is no."

Mick sighed over the phone. On my end, it sounded like a rush of static. "You don't even know what I was going to ask, Josef."

"Yes I do. So why don't you tell Beth—because I _know_ she's there, or you wouldn't be bothering me in the first place about this—that I'm not putting on some stupid costume for her entertainment. She can do that to her dog. _I_, however, am not her bitch."

"Josef, she doesn't have a dog," Mick said, laughing. "And that's not what I was calling about."

I frowned. "Out with it, then."

"Beth is covering a story at this club downtown, and they're having a huge Halloween party. Guess what the theme is."

"Don't tell me…" I groaned. "Not…"

"Yeah," he sighed. "Vampires."

I smacked my head against the wall. "You know, ever since that book Twilight came out…" I began. "We're being portrayed as 'righteous, misunderstood creatures' … At least Dracula got us some respect!"

This is one thing that really pisses me off. I have no problem with humans wearing costumes. But, really… they need to get the costumes right. The three most cliché, fucked-up costumes I've seen are witches, ghosts, and (sadly) vampires.

Now, this doesn't mean that you can't do those costumes right, however! Last year, there was this twenty-something-year-old woman dressed as a vampire. Gorgeous woman. She kept it simple, and simply added those realistic-looking fangs in with her costume: A simple pair of black jeans and a leather top.

She was delicious.

Another one—a guy this time—pulled off the ghost costume really well. He carried around a portable fog machine, and must've worked on his makeup for hours to get that dead look.

I almost felt bad when I hit him with the hose.

Well, I _sprayed _him with the hose first. Then I tried to turn it off and accidentally turned it up, and the metal sprayer flew up and hit him in the face.

The last one was Beth. She dressed up as a witch last year, and she didn't wear the pointy hat or anything. Key word was 'or anything.' See, she made this video of her and Josh, and she said she was a 'natural witch'… and believe me, she was 'natural', all right. She accidently brought the tape over instead of the movie Enchanted, which she rented for the three of us to watch. Hell, I'll take home movies any day!

Unfortunately, these few good costumes are just a drop in the bucket compared to the torrents of shit pouring out of costume stores these days. Fairies. Alice in Wonderland. Slut!Dorothy. Scream masks. Frankenstein. Grim Reaper. Naruto. The list goes on! Then we have those 'homemade' costumes, like the cutout cardboard circle. Johnny on the spot! And the all-black outfit with pieces of trash and candy stuck to it. Movie theater floor! Fine, I'll admit they're original, but that last one usually looks like 'sticky kid who rolled in the dumpster'.

I sighed, rubbing my eyes. "When should I be there, Mick?" I asked in resignation.

"In an hour," he replied. "Normally Beth wouldn't have asked me to come, but she's still got bad memories of the last time she was alone with vamp-wannabes. She wouldn't be going at all if it weren't for the contact she had to meet."

"Alright," I said. "See you then."

* * *

I left a bit early, hoping to grab a drink on the way. Luckily, there was a hobo lying under the bridge, so drunk that he didn't even notice when I bit his arm. I didn't kill him, though. I know the Cleaner loves Halloween and I really didn't want to piss her off by making her work on her day off.

When I arrived at Mick's place, I was dumbfounded. I was horrified. I was… actually, I was struck with the uncontrollable urge to bitch-slap him. "HALLOWEEN DECORATIONS?!" I shouted. "Cut-out pumpkins?! Mick, you traitor!"

"Calm down, Josef; they aren't mine."

"You sound like a cheating human! 'They're not mine!'" I imitated in a squeaky voice. "The hell they aren't!"

"They're _mine,_" said Beth irritably. "_I_ put them here."

I blinked stupidly. "Uh," I said a bit more quietly. "This is awkward." I glanced at the decorations and shrugged. "Well, since they're yours, I guess I can do this then." I shoved a glass pumpkin off the table, and it shattered on the floor.

Mick raised an eyebrow. "That was very childish, Josef," he said. "And you're cleaning that up."

Suddenly, the doorbell rang. Not once, not twice, but THREE times in rapid succession. "I'll get it!" trilled Beth, grabbing a candy bowl from beside the stairs. "Must be the trick-or-treaters."

"No, wait! Can I do it?" I asked eagerly, snatching the bowl from her. "I've never seen a trick-or-treater before!"

I could hear Mick's groans of protest as I opened the door, but I ignored him. In the doorway stood three kids and a teenager. "Alright, what're you guys supposed to be?" I asked.

The little girl in pink waved happily. "I'm a ballewina!" she said in her annoying pre-schooler voice.

"I'm Harry Potter!" said the slightly older boy. 1st grade, probably.

"Pika pika!" said the last little kid.

The teenager rolled his eyes. "He says he's Pikachu."

"Oh, you don't say?" I said sarcastically. "And what are… Sweet Jesus in a toaster oven, what the hell are _you?_" I exclaimed.

The kid's hair was really oddly cut, as though he usually wore it in a mohawk but had it combed back for one day only. He wore skin-tight black jeans that even Beth wouldn't wear, a black leather top and a pair of cheap 25-cent fangs. Contradicting this, however, was a big nose ring that reminded me of a cartoon bull, huge gage-holes in his ears, a tattoo on his forearm, eyebrow rings, a lip piercing, several more ear piercings along the shell of his ears, and thin scars going horizontally across his wrists.

"I'm a vampire, man," the teen drawled. "A creature of darkness, with my soul destroyed by conformists—"

"Yeah, good luck with that," I interrupted. "Now, let me see…" I picked up four pieces of candy. "A blow-pop for the retarded dancer, some smartees for the whiny Brit with a stick, a tootsie roll for the electric rat, and a dumdum for the… thing… that should not be in custody of any of those other three things." I winced. "Yeah. Sorry, your costumes suck."

"Dude, what's your problem?" droned the teen. "I don't see _you_ wearing a better costume."

DING DING DING! Opportunity rings the doorbell!

I smiled slowly. "Oh, I'm wearing a costume alright," I said. "I'm just trying not to scare the children."

"You're scaring me already, man," snorted the teenager, laughing at his own joke. "Get it? I said your _face_ was scaring me!"

Rolling my eyes, I turned to the kids. "Why don't you kids take this bowl of candy down the hall while I talk to this… thing, okay?" I suggested.

I had them hooked at 'candy'. No wonder so many little kids get abducted at that age!

"Josef…" warned Mick. "Remember our agreement? No scaring the trick-or-treaters."

"Killjoy," I snapped.

However, this kid didn't know a lifeline when it was being tossed to him. "Yeah," he chimed in. "Listen to your boyfriend!"

I glared back at Mick, whose eye was twitching in anger. "Never mind," he said. "Do your worst."

I don't know if you've ever been face-to-face with a pissed-off vampire. Maybe you have. But if you have, consider this: Was it Halloween? Was there a mutilated teenage emo pretending to be a vampire within a 10-foot radius of the real thing? Was Beth hissing threats in the background?

Probably not.

I wish I could explain why our eyes change when we move in for the kill, but honestly, I didn't care at the moment. It just added to the whole 'evil, killer vampire' effect.

And seriously, what a rush! It's almost better than lobbing cherry bombs off the roof of that one Vietnam veteran who lives a few blocks down. He starts having flashbacks and panics and OH MY GOD is it fun! But this…

The kid went white as blow and for a moment, I thought he was going to pass out. Then he got a hold of himself and started screaming and pissed himself. Then, of course, the little kids started screaming, so I grabbed a flashlight and made a humorously scary face before they could see me.

"Your big brother's a chicken," I said lightly. "You three aren't scared, are you?" They laughed. Of course they weren't. "Well, Happy Halloween!" I closed the door.

Beth was livid.

"I. Cannot. _BELIEVE_ you did that!!" she shouted. "There were children out there!"

I shrugged. "You should try it sometime."

Mick rolled his eyes. "You never stop with the surprises, Josef," he laughed, pouring a glass of that disgusting preserved blood for me and grabbing a beer for Beth. "If I didn't know better, I'd say you're starting to like this holiday."

"Not as much as Bomb Day," I said matter-of-factly. "Nothing tops that."

"Bomb Day?" repeated Beth questioningly. "What's Bomb—OH! July 4th?"

"Dead on." I drained half the glass in one gulp. "Where to next? Oddly enough… I feel like… TPing."

Okay, if you could see Beth and Mick's faces right now, I think you would understand why I choked on the blood I was drinking, sending it all out my nose. I swear, you think _milk_ is bad…

"Who are you, and what have you done with Josef Kostan?" laughed Beth.

* * *

Thanks for reading, guys! This chapter wasn't as good as my others, but I've got some real fun planned for Thanksgiving! See you next time!


	8. Thanksgiving

Disclaimer: Nope, not mine. But you'd know if it was.

Rating: This is PG13 for a reason, and if I could make it PG16 or something, I would.

Pairings: None, though I hint at everything.

Summary: Josef rants about the holidays throughout the year.

**Warning: This work of fiction may contain material that is **_**offensive**_** to some people. If bashing religious and non-religious holidays bothers you, you have been **_**warned**_**. I would like to remind the readers that this fanfic does **_**not**_** reflect my opinions on any of the following: religion, politics, life, death, love and any other topic you don't like people to piss on. I am simply trying to write as a **_**fictional character**_**. Apologies in advance to all those who are offended.**

AS I SEE IT...  
Chapter 8  
Oh My God! It Was Pregnant!

"No. No no no and no. Oh, and did I mention no?" The minute Mick called, I knew what my answer would be. He knows I hate Thanksgiving and if I have to see one more stupid dead bird, I just might stake myself.

Honestly, I don't get what's so great about them. Dead, plucked, greasy birds. It almost makes that vegan blood of Mick's sound appetizing.

"Yes you did, Josef. Six times now."

It was November something-or-another. Thanksgiving. I'd known it was getting close ever since I saw the Christmas decorations in the same windows displaying November calendars. The arrival of any vampire's least favorite holiday.

Mine as well, but not for the reasons you might think. I don't care that I can't eat. Blood is delicious. I'm not all moody on Thanksgiving because of the whole 'being thankful' thing. And I'm not sad that I don't have a family to spend the holiday with.

That's what Mick and the appetizer are for.

And the appetizer's boyfriend, apparently.

See, this year Beth invited Mick and I to spend Thanksgiving with her and Josh, and when Mick insists on these things, I find it very hard to refuse. Anyways, it's not like I had anything better to do, and he knew it.

On the other hand, I was just dying to meet this boyfriend of Blondie's. He must be something special if Beth would choose him over her "guardian angel".

I spent most of the day at Mick's place, watching the stupid Thanksgiving parade then watching Mick drool over Beth as she covered some story involving sabotage on the giant Pikachu balloon. Boring!

"So, Mick, tell me…" I began. "How do we explain to Blondie's boyfriend why we aren't eating anything?"

Mick shrugged, obviously only half-paying attention. "We'll think of something," he replied. I grumbled and sank back into the couch. This day was looking more boring by the minute.

I grabbed the remote from Mick and began flipping through the channels—"Hey! I was watching that!"—pausing here and there whenever I found something interesting. Charlie Brown's Thanksgiving… Boring. More Thanksgiving specials… Boring. Cooking shows… They were showing how to cook what looked like a mini-turkey.

"Well, that's just adorable," I said, voice laced with sarcasm. "Is that for the dieting supermodels and anorexic jackasses to share?"

"It's a Cornish hen, Josef," Mick said, rolling his eyes. "It says so at the bottom of the screen."

I glanced down. "Oh, so it does…" I said airily. "Here, take the remote. There's nothing else on."

"Thank you. You're so considerate," he said just as sarcastically.

I sipped on my glass of blood in boredom, hardly noticing the vile taste. There was no way out. I was doomed to a night of boredom and doomed to an afternoon of cooking. Apparently, Beth seemed to think asking vampires for help in the kitchen was a good idea. I was vaguely reminded of Animaniacs and the 'Good Idea, Bad Idea' sketches.

"Hey, Mick," I said lightly. "You do realize we can't cook, right?"

He frowned. "I'm sure Beth knows what she's doing. She'll tell us what to do."

"I certainly hope so." I stood up, setting my empty glass beside his. "I'll meet you over there, okay?" I informed him slyly. "There's something I have to grab first."

"Oh no, Josef, what are you planning this—"

I slammed the door before he could finish his sentence.

--

My errand brought me face-to-face with at least seven Santas ringing bells in front of stores. One of them looked a little bit familiar, though…

"Oh, you have GOT to be kidding me!" I exclaimed as I caught a whiff of the guy. "Don't you have a conscience?"

A vampire. Dressed as Santa. That has got to be the ultimate disgrace!

"Hey, I've got my reasons!" he whined. Right. I didn't even know the guy, but if I see him again, I think I might strangle him.

I found what I was looking for rather quickly, which wasn't that big of a surprise, considering what day it was. Hell, Cornish hens were even on sale! I glanced at the large clock on the wall. Oh, well. I guess Mick won't mind if I go back to his place early.

--

Mick was just about to leave when I arrived. "I thought you had to get something," he said curiously.

"I did. It was a bit easier to find than I thought."

He frowned suspiciously. "I don't suppose you're gonna tell me what it is?"

"Right you are, Mick!" I said, grinning. "It's a surprise."

We were in Mick's car, about halfway to Beth's place, when he noticed it. "Josef, what's in the bag?"

I shrugged. "Well, if I told you, it wouldn't be a surprise, now would it?"

"What kind of surprise are we talking about?" he asked. "Nothing like the last few times we've met up for holidays, right?"

"You'll see," I said cryptically. He mumbled something under his breath that I assumed to be a threat of sorts, but I ignored it. If Mick and Beth wouldn't make this joke of a holiday interesting, then I volunteer!

--

"Oh, thank goodness you're here!" exclaimed Beth as she opened the door. "I've never made Thanksgiving dinner by myself before! I need all the help I can get."

"Including help from two vampires who don't know how to cook?" I commented sarcastically. "Your funeral."

She ignored me, as she'd taken a habit of doing since Halloween. "What's in the bag?"

I rolled my eyes. "You asked us to help you cook, so I found some food you can use. Honestly, you always assume I'm—"

She ignored me again. "Alright you two. Everything's in the kitchen. Mick, I want you to peel potatoes, and Josef, you can just stay out of the way."

"No way!" I protested. "I get dibs on the dead bird."

Mick winced. "Josef, you admitted you can't cook. Why don't you just help with the potatoes?"

"Because I know how to stuff a chicken!"

"Turkey," Beth corrected.

"Whatever. A big dead bird. I know how to stuff it."

Beth sighed. "Fine. But only if you don't mess it up. Now, Mick, about those potatoes…"

I smirked. Perfect. After Beth had shown Mick how to properly peel the potatoes without slicing his finger off, I proceeded to stuff the turkey. "What's with the Cornish hen?" Mick asked, as I pulled the mini-chicken out of the bag.

"Oh, this? I thought Beth would like it." I tried to put on my best innocent face, but either Mick had known me too long, or I just can't look harmless to save my life.

"Right," he said sarcastically. "You just wanted to get into the spirit of thanksgiving, didn't you?"

"Something like that," I replied. "In my own unique way."

He shook his head. "It's your 'uniqueness' that worries me, Josef."

"Oh ye of little faith," I pouted. "I'm not going to ruin Thanksgiving. I promise."

Mick glanced at me doubtfully. "And if you do?"

"Then I'll go to Blondie's Christmas party."

"I'll remember that," he said, turning back to the potatoes.

I grinned. I never said I would ruin Thanksgiving. I just wanted to add a bit of entertainment to the evening. No harm in that, right?

--

Beth's boyfriend arrived sometime between the time she put the turkey in the oven and started playing 'Walk Like an Egyptian' on her CD player. I hate that song, and I hate the smell of cooking birds.

When she went back into the kitchen, I smacked the CD player. "Oh, look at that. It's skipping." I grabbed the remote. "I'll just see what's on TV, okay?"

"Josef, you're an ass!" Beth called from the kitchen. Then the doorbell rang. There was a thump and a muffled curse as Beth tripped over something as she hurried to the door.

"Three guesses who it is," I said monotonously. Mick shrugged. "Have I met this guy?"

"I don't think so," he replied. "Just promise me you won't—"

Beth walked in at that very moment with her boyfriend in tow, so whatever I wasn't supposed to do was lost in her sudden babble. "Josh, you've already met Mick," she said.

"Who're you?" Josh asked me suddenly.

Well, gee! That was rude. "I'm one of your girlfriend's culinarily retarded kitchen slaves," I said. "You must be the boyfriend we've heard so much about. What was your name again? John? Jake?"

"Josh," he said, as Beth smacked her hand over her eyes.

"This is Josef," she said in resignation. "He's one of Mick's friends."

I gasped in mock outrage. "Well, I like to think I'm one of _your_ friends too!" I argued. "Why else would I let Mick drag me over here when everyone knows I hate holiday celebrations?"

"Yes, Josef, I'm sure this is absolute torture for you," Mick commented sarcastically. "And if I didn't know for a fact that you have ulterior motives, I probably wouldn't have called you."

Beth sighed. "Well, that's enough introductions for now," she said. "I think the turkey's done, so we can eat in about ten minutes."

"Goodie," I said, rolling my eyes. Mick shook his head as Josh glared at me. Well, I do believe I've just made a new enemy. It's not even 6:00!

--

"Are you sure you don't need any help in there?" Mick asked for the umpteenth time, as Beth cursed loudly.

"I'm fine!" she called. "The turkey's just a bit hot."

The three of us tried to make civil conversation. "So, ah, Josh, right?" Josh nodded, still glaring. "I'm assuming you don't exactly like me, right?"

"Pretty close," he replied. "But I'm assuming you have that effect on most people."

"That I do," I said casually. "I'm surprised Mick still puts up with me."

Mick winced. "Well, you're not as horrible as you like to think you are. It just takes a few years to get used to you."

Josh tried to continue the conversation. "So, how do you two know Beth?"

I shrugged. "Mick introduced me. Long story."

"And the even longer story is why she puts up with him," Mick said.

Josh frowned at me. "Wait, are you the one who put the fish in her bathtub while she was at the baby shower?"

I grinned. "Oh, so you heard about that."

"Hey, Josef?" asked Mick suddenly. "what did you do with the Cornish hen?"

I was saved from further explanation by an ear-splitting shriek from the kitchen. Josh and Mick jumped to their feet as though they'd been wired to an outlet, and they ran to the kitchen. I peered in as they both tried to calm Beth down.

Once she finally stopped sobbing, she pointed to the turkey with a shaking finger. "What's wrong?" asked Josh.

"It… it…" Beth stuttered. I smirked until Mick shot a killer death glare in my direction. "It was _pregnant_!!"

Josh arched an eyebrow. "What?" he said doubtfully.

"Just look! Look inside it!" Beth shrieked hysterically. "There's a baby turkey in there!"

"Beth, turkeys lay eggs," Mick said comfortingly. "It can't be pregnant."

Beth sniffled loudly. "Then… what…" Josh reached inside the turkey and pulled out…

A Cornish hen.

"JOSEF!" all three shouted at the same time.

* * *

Author's note: Well, I hope you enjoyed it! Next time: Christmas! I'd do Hanukah too, but I don't know anything about it. Or, at least, not enough to do a good parody fic. Sorry, guys!


	9. Christmas Eve Part 1

Disclaimer: Nope, not mine. But you'd know if it was.

Rating: This is PG13 for a reason, and if I could make it PG16 or something, I would.

Pairings: None, though I hint at everything.

Summary: Josef rants about the holidays throughout the year.

**Warning: This work of fiction may contain material that is **_**offensive**_** to some people. If bashing religious and non-religious holidays bothers you, you have been **_**warned**_**. I would like to remind the readers that this fanfic does **_**not**_** reflect my opinions on any of the following: religion, politics, life, death, love and any other topic you don't like people to piss on. I am simply trying to write as a **_**fictional character**_**. Apologies in advance to all those who are offended.**

**AUTHOR'S NOTE: **Due to the great amount of love I have received from you, my wonderful reviewers, Christmas will be a three-part chapter: Daytime party, Christmas Eve, and Christmas Morning. And following that, there will be a reprise of New Year's Eve. Thank you one and all for reviewing! These chapters are all for you! I plan to finish before Christmas, so if my updates are slow, feel free to yell at me! I am quite lazy at times, and I often need a swift kick in the ass to get me going. Happy holidays!!

* * *

AS I SEE IT...  
Chapter 9  
Santa the Claus-et Pedophile

"You're going."

"No."

"You promised."

"Not to this."

"You're still going."

"Make me."

"Is that a dare, or a double-dare?"

I hung up the phone in disgust. I agreed to attend _Beth's_ Christmas party _if_ I ruined Thanksgiving, which, to my knowledge, I did nothing of the sort. I had no idea where Mick got the idea that he could _possibly_ make me attend a children's secret Santa gift exchange party celebration or whatnot. Children! Adult humans are hard enough to deal with, and with my reputation from Halloween, I should like to think that Beth would know better than to insist on me attending a children's party at a church.

"BuzzWire's doing a special on holiday celebrations throughout LA," Mick had explained earlier. "And Beth was assigned to cover the gift exchange at the Salvation Army."

I never knew the Salvation Army was a church thing. Maybe because I simply wasn't interested, but I'd always assumed they were a military branch or something. Apparently I was mistaken.

There was a sudden knock on my door, and I immediately slid all twelve locks into place. And the chain thing, too. I was _not_ going to some kiddie Santa party, and there was no way in hell Mick could make me.

--

About five minutes later, I found myself hog-tied and shoved rather unceremoniously into the trunk of Mick's car. I was pissed. Apparently I had been misinformed about how important it was to Beth that I attend this retarded little gathering, but the ever-loving Mick St. John kindly explained to me in words I could understand what the spirit of Christmas was all about.

Meaning the sonovabitch broke down my door and staked me.

Then bound me hand and foot and tossed me into the trunk.

Damn him!

I finally felt the car slow to a stop at only god-knows-where, but wherever we were, I was over 99.999872 percent sure I didn't want to be there. And when Mick opened the trunk, my worst fears were confirmed. Beth's place.

"If you get Beth fired, Josef, I will do something so horrible that you will wish it was Christmas every day," Mick warned. I simply glared, which was all I could do under the circumstances. He loosened the ropes and tossed them into the corner of the trunk by my head, then slowly pulled the stake out of my heart.

The minute I could move, I lashed out at his face with my hand, leaving three deep scratch marks on his cheek. "I hate you," I hissed. "I really, really do."

"Love you too," he said absently, and the wound on his face closed. "Now get out of there before people think I'm abducting children."

"You'd deserve it," I grumbled, climbing out of the trunk nonetheless. "Why are we here?"

Mick slammed the trunk shut. "To help Beth with her garland. She's been having trouble with it."

"Funny," I commented. "She strikes me as the type who'd start decorating before Thanksgiving."

Mick rounded on me again. "And speaking of Thanksgiving, Josef," he began threateningly. "_Please_ don't be yourself today. Please, just… don't."

"If you don't like my creativity, why are you putting me in a room full of garland, children, Santas and opportunities?" I asked curiously. "The temptation is awful!"

Mick knocked on Beth's door. "For once in your life, can't you just smile and wish someone a Merry Christmas?"

I rolled my eyes. "Of course I can. I just choose not to."

"Mick!" Beth exclaimed happily as she opened the door, then greeted me with a much less enthusiastic, "Josef."

"Merry Christmas!" I said with a smile that I hope she didn't see right through with her womanly ways.

Both she and Mick looked equally surprised. "Um, Merry Christmas, Josef," Beth replied cautiously. "What's he planning?" she whispered to Mick.

"I have no idea," Mick replied, shaking his head in defeat. "Anyways, he agreed to help with the garland so we can get to the party on time."

"You liar!" I snapped. "I never said I would—"

"That's great!" Beth said, ignoring me. "Here you go, Josef!" She shoved a box of garland and a nail gun into my arms. "Just hang it up like the garland in the kitchen. You can start with the living room."

Mick snickered slightly as Beth skipped off into the kitchen. "I still hate you," I snapped quietly.

As Mick went to join the appetizer in the kitchen, I glanced at the garland already hanging on the wall. It couldn't be too hard, right?

Wrong.

Ten minutes and three nails through my hand later, I was starting to feel a bit like Jesus Christ. "Josef, you're cleaning that blood off the floor!" snapped Beth, pegging me in the head with a scrub brush.

"Ow!" I whined pathetically. "Aren't women supposed to be caring and nurturing and shit like that?"

"Shut up and hold still, Josef," Mick said without any real venom, prying the nail loose from the wall and one of the bones in my hand. "I'm honestly considering going into the medical field after all the surgery I do on you."

"Great," I commented. "Maybe then you could give me some anesthetic when you—OW OW OKAY, I GET IT!" He finally pulled the nail free, allowing me to detach my hand from the wall.

Beth winced at the bloodstains on her wall and floor. "Maybe we should just quit while we're ahead," she suggested. "I can get Josh to help me with this when he gets off work."

"Best idea I've heard all day," I agreed, rubbing the freshly-healed flesh of my hand. "I am never touching a nail gun again."

"Best idea you've had all day," Mick retorted drily.

Beth rolled her eyes. "Mick, could you help me in the kitchen? I need a hand with the boxes."

"Sure," he said, tossing the bloody nail into the trash can. "Josef, _behave yourself_."

"Yes, mommy," I said sarcastically, grabbing the remote and flipping through channels. I heard the clattering of Tupperware in the other room, and turned up the volume a bit. Christmas special. Christmas special. Charlie Brown Christmas. Cooking channel. How the Grinch Stole Christmas. Shopping channel. Miracle on 34th Street. Boring! Finally, I flipped to some corny slasher film. It was halfway in, so I had no clue what was happening, but it was in the middle of the obligatory slaughter, so I didn't complain. Some guy was in the process of getting his fingers stuck into his asshole like birthday candles when I noticed something lying on the table beside me. A mini voice recorder.

Then I got an idea. I got a wonderful, _awful_ idea!

I turned the volume up as high as it would go, then hit record. "_Please, stop!_" the guy was bawling as the killer approached with a large machete. "_Someone get me out of here! Please! I want to live!_" I almost laughed as the man let out a piercing shriek of agony. Pussy. "_Please…_" his voice broke into a sobbing whisper. "_I don't want to die!_" Another scream, and the killer cut off his head. I stopped recording.

"Josef, turn it down!" shouted Beth. "I'm on the phone!"

Obediently, I lowered the volume. I had what I needed, anyways.

Mick re-entered the room, looking slightly apprehensive. "Josef, we're leaving for the children's party in a few minutes. I'm not gonna have to stake you again, am I?"

I grinned. "I'll come quietly," I said. "Just don't stuff me in the trunk this time."

"Whatever you're planning, Josef, I will fight at every turn to thwart it."

I had no doubt that he would.

--

The party was loud, noisy, and full of shrieking children. Some young guy with a fake beard was dressed as Santa Claus, and was taking note of all the toys the kids wanted for Christmas. All looked right, but I knew better. That Santa's hand was lingering just a _little too long_ on the children's backsides, squeezing every now and then as a particularly cute one told him in great detail about the new Barbie doll or shiny red toy fire engine they wanted.

'PERVERT!' I wanted to shout, but making a huge din and accusing Santa of pedophilia would probably be frowned upon by the vast majority of people present, no matter how true it was.

I noticed Mick talking to a few people by the coffee pot, and approached him in the special way only I can manage. "Mick! Just the man I wanted to see!" I exclaimed, clapping him on the shoulder. "I just found something interesting you might want to see for yourself."

"I'm sorry, I'll be right back," he said politely to the two people he'd been conversing with. "What is it, Josef?" he asked.

"Take a look at this," I said, leading him by the arm to the platform where Santa was seated.

Mick looked confused. "It's some guy dressed as Santa," he observed bluntly. "What, you wanna sit on his lap or something?"

"Watch his hand, and you'll see exactly why not." Mick watched, and his eyes suddenly widened.

"Has he been doing that to all those kids?" he whispered, aghast.

I nodded. "All day. May I?"

"You most certainly may not," he answered automatically. "I'll get security."

I pouted. "But Mick," I whined, imitating the kid from Charlie Brown with the blanket. "That's what Christmas is all about! C'mon, let me have fun."

"No!"

"Hey, you two!" greeted Beth, followed by her cameraman. "Mind if I interview you for my piece on the party?"

"That might not be the best—" began Mick.

"Sure!" I interrupted. "I've got a great angle of this party for you to follow!"

Beth brightened visibly. "Oh, that's great! It's been pretty dull here so far." She gestured for her cameraman to start filming. "Well, I'm very glad the two of you could make it to this party," she began. "So tell me, what's your view on the event?"

"It's been great, actually, minus a few setbacks," I said brightly. "By the way, thank you so much for inviting Mick and I."

"Oh, it was no problem!" Beth said cheerily. "Would you mind clarifying on those setbacks you mentioned?"

I grinned. "My pleasure. If you wouldn't mind zooming in on Jolly Ol' St. Nicholas over there…" I pointed at Santa. "Watch his hand, please."

Beth and the cameraman's eyes bugged. "My… God!" gasped Beth. "Someone get security over there!" she called.

"What seems to be the problem, Miss Turner?" asked one of the security men.

Beth made sure the camera was still rolling. "That Santa Claus is groping the children!" she exclaimed.

The security guard glanced at Santa doubtfully, then suddenly turned back to Beth. "Understood. We'll get right on it."

Beth turned back to the camera. "A shocking turn of events at what we thought to be a child-friendly, wholesome Christmas party! It turns out the man representing the very heart and soul of the joys of Christmas in children all around the world is molesting those same children within the walls of a church! Josef, how did you notice that?"

I shrugged, as Mick rolled his eyes. "I don't like Santas," I said simply. "I don't trust grown men can who let little kids sit on their lap by the hundreds and talk about toys without going insane."

"Well, that was… insightful…" Beth said with a slight frown of annoyance. "But still rather fortunate. Your intuition was correct, and serves as a good lesson to us all." She turned back to the camera. "Be careful who you let handle your children. We'll keep you posted on this story as it develops." The cameraman stopped filming. "What a creeper!" she exclaimed, dropping her news-whore bravado. "God, sickos are everywhere!"

"Aren't background checks required for that job?" asked Mick.

"I thought so, but apparently they missed something!"

I shrugged. "At least some good came out of it," I reasoned.

"GOOD?!" exclaimed Beth in shock. "How is any of this _good_?!"

With a grin, I replied, "He has AB- blood. I found my next meal!" Mick and the appetizer glared at me. "What? I'm thirsty!"

"What you _are_ is hopeless," Beth said, shaking her head. "Anyways, what are we gonna do about Santa now? How on earth can we find a replacement on such short notice?"

I shrugged. "Who cares?"

"The _children_ care, Josef!" she snapped. "They've been told that that man was impersonating Santa Claus, and the real one should be here shortly."

Mick was suddenly looking at me in a whole new light. "Josef…" he began in that tone that suggested he had an idea I wouldn't like. "Maybe _you_ could—"

"No way in hell," I retorted before Mick could even finish asking. "I won't _grope_ the kids, but I _will_ eat them."

"Why am I not surprised," Beth sighed. "Um, Mick, I know this is asking a lot, but could you…?" She trailed off inquisitively.

Mick smiled in his 'just for Beth' way. "Sure, Beth. Just tell me what to do." I shook my head. Whipped!

Beth led Mick away, but not before giving me one final warning to _behave myself_. Behave. Right. I had no intention of doing anything of the sort. I did have to work fast though. It would take about twenty minutes for Beth to convince the church to let Mick play Santa Claus, so I would have to hurry.

I absently reached into my pocket and pulled out the voice recorder. If all went well, this would be a Christmas no one would forget.

--

Security was obviously trying to make up for it's previous fuck up by interrogating the hell out of Mick, despite the fact that he was a Private Investigator and had helped blow the whistle on the other Santa. So while they were bombarding him with questions on everything from his name to the history of water, I snuck around and found the Santa Claus outfit.

It wasn't too hard to modify. Just a few staples at the hems joining the pants to the top and a few staples securing the boots to the pant legs, and ta-daa! A Santa waiting to be stuffed like a scarecrow.

But what to stuff it with…?

I tried to think over the loud Christmas music playing in the other room, and found myself unconsciously humming along.

'_You're a mean one, Mr. Grinch.  
__You really are a heel.  
__You're as cuddly as a cactus,  
__You're as charming as an eel.  
__Mr. Grinch._'

I snorted. How apt.

Now, back to the stuffing problem… All I had on hand was a box of food they'd been serving at the buffet table, some cotton candy and part of a chicken that hadn't been cooked too well.

That would have to work.

'_You're a monster… Mr. Grinch._'

I began stuffing the legs with chicken bones, cheese cubes and vile-smelling hor d'oeuvres, then added the cotton candy, extra peppermints and vegetable dip on top.

'_You're a vile one… Mr. Grinch._'

After checking to make sure Mick and Beth wouldn't see me, I darted out of the building as fast as my super vampire skills would allow. I went out of my way to stay on the side of the room opposite the large stone fireplace, though. The flames were huge, and the only fire I like is the kind that shoots out of a screamer fountain firework.

'_You nauseate me… Mr. Grinch._'

Who the hell was Mr. Grinch, anyways? How did he relate to Christmas? Was he the guy who stabbed Frosty the Snowman with an icicle or something? That would explain why this guy hated him so much.

Getting onto the roof was no problem. As I heaved the smelly Santa scarecrow to the edge of the chimney, I made sure to stomp my feet extra loud. I could hear voices from below: "Did you hear that?" "Someone's on the roof!" "Mommy, it's _Santa_!"

I grinned. Perfect. I shoved the Santa dummy into the smoking chimney, and watched him slide down. Fortunately, the bulk of the dummy blocked most of the smoke, so I could see that it had gone most of the way down, then gotten stuck at a point where the people below would probably be able to see his boots over the flames.

With a flourish, I pulled the voice recorder out of my pocket, turned the volume all the way up, pressed play, and dropped it in. I knew I couldn't linger on the roof long. No doubt people would investigate the loud footsteps.

So I hurried back inside, and I arrived at possibly the best moment.

The flames were licking the bottom of the dummy's boots, and the tape recorder was clearly audible over the crackling of the fire. '_Someone get me out of here! Please! I want to live!_' One child started crying, and that was the spark that lit the powder keg. Almost every child started screaming 'Help Santa! Help Santa!' and bawling their eyes out. The adults started emptying fire extinguishers onto the blaze, thinking someone was actually stupid enough to climb into a smoking chimney. I was busy doing all I could to keep from laughing my ass off as the adults pulled "Santa" out of the chimney. The bones and hor d'oeuvres spilled out onto the floor like guts.

"SANTA'S DEAD!!" one pig-tailed girl shrieked, face glistening with tears. "WAAAHH!!!"

"Merry Christmas to all, and to all a good night," I whispered smugly.

"Cool!" exclaimed one boy of about ten. "I found one of his bones!"

Then I got the feeling. Like there was someone standing right behind me, glaring with murderous intent. "Hey, Mick!" I greeted without turning around. "Did you see what happened?"

"It's not funny," he snapped. "Why the hell would you do something like that?"

"And who said it was me?" He arched an eyebrow. "No, really," I insisted. "Who said it was me? I need to kill them."

"Josef, this has you written all over it."

I rolled my eyes, and glanced at Beth, who was covering the footage on video. "In a horrible, twisted prank, some immature, juvenile vandal has stuffed a Santa suit full of meat, cotton candy and vegetable dip down the chimney, along with a recording of what appears to be a rather gruesome death scene from a 1980's slasher film." I grinned, but winced as I caught Beth's glare in my direction. "I don't know what kind of person would do such a childish thing, but whoever it is must be a real piece of work. I'm sure I speak on behalf of everyone here when I say "Grow up!" This has been most upsetting to the children today, and it's certainly not going to be visions of sugarplums that will be dancing through their heads tonight."

I met Beth's glare with one of my own. She didn't back down an inch. Whoops. I must've really pissed her off this time. "Josef, you're a force of nature when you're bored, you know that?"

"I wasn't bored," I said in surprise. "On _Easter_, I was bored. On _Thanksgiving_, I was bored. No, I wasn't bored at all today."

Mick frowned, confused. "Then why on earth did you—?"

"I was pissed off, Mick," I answered simply. "You and your little appetizer conspired against me, and it resulted in me getting staked and shoved in a trunk." I shrugged. "I thought I'd piss you two off in return. It's the gift that keeps on giving."

To my surprise, Mick started laughing. "Y-you think…" he said between laughs. "You think _that_ actually pissed me off?" he gasped, pointing at the mess by the fireplace. "Josef, that was the most hilarious thing you've ever done!"

"Who the hell are you?" I asked, peering into Mick's eyes. "The _real_ Mick St. John would probably have left me staked and hog-tied at Beth's feet for judgment."

"If you two are finished…?" Beth said suddenly, making both of us jump and take a giant step back. "Mick, I cannot believe you! Did you help him with this?"

I gasped in mock outrage. "As if I needed the help!" I exclaimed.

"I am going to make you pay for this," she hissed at me, eyes narrowing.

Ooh, the intimidation game! Well, two can play at that! My eyes flashed white as I bared my fangs at her, and I saw her flinch visibly.

"Josef, knock it off," Mick snapped.

Beth's face suddenly split into a grin. And it wasn't an ordinary grin, either. It was the type of grin that crazy bloodthirsty vampire women get when they see an opportunity to get something they want. "Look up, you two," she said sweetly.

We did. There was a tiny bunch of berries and leaves hanging from the doorway. Mick paled visibly, for some reason. "What is it?" I asked. "Holly?"

"It's mistletoe," Mick mumbled, blushing. "Beth, you wouldn't—!"

"What's mistletoe?" I asked, confused. Some little kid suddenly appeared from behind me.

"You don't know what mistletoe is, mister?" he asked, grinning.

I shook my head. "I'm guessing it's nothing good…"

"You have to kiss anyone you meet under it!"

My face paled as well. "WHAT?"

"I think he just found out what mistletoe is," Mick commented to Beth, as the youngster scampered off.

Beth looked rather pleased with herself. "Well, now that we're all on the same page, get going!"

"Beth, this is a church!" protested Mick. "I haven't been chased by a mob yet, and I don't want that to stop today!"

"It's not that bad, actually," I commented offhandedly. "As long as you can outrun the vamp next to you, that is."

Mick glared at me. "Whose side are you on?"

"My own side! I told you I didn't want to come!"

"Hey, _I'm_ not the one who stuffed a Santa into the fire!"

Some random middle-aged woman walked by us, paused, and shook her head. "Just kiss and make up, you two," she sighed.

"WHAT?!" we both exclaimed as she walked away.

"See, people already think you're an item!" Beth laughed. "Come on. I'm waiting."

"No!" Mick protested. I just settled for a glare.

The little kid was back, and this time, he brought friends. "You have to do it!" he insisted. "It's tra-di-tion-al." He sounded out the big word. This kid was going to get very annoying very fast.

"It's revenge," Mick corrected.

"But it's the spiwit of the Cwistmas!" one of the kid's friends said in her annoying, high pitched voice.

Please, if there is a God, make them shut up!

"Kiss! Kiss! Kiss! Kiss!"

Apparently there isn't one.

"Beth, please don't do this!"

"Do it!"

"Kiss! Kiss! Kiss!"

The noise was finally getting to be too much. I saw only one way out, and I seized the opportunity. I leaned forward and briefly pressed my lips to Mick's in a quick but obvious kiss. "There! You happy?" I snapped. "Now will everyone shut up before I drain them of their life's blood?!"

The kids scampered.

Mick had shut up too. His eyes were wide in horror, and for some reason, so were Beth's. "I didn't think you'd really do it," she breathed, mouth hanging open slightly.

"If you didn't want me to, why were you nagging at us?" I exclaimed in outrage.

"Because I wanted to piss you two off!"

I rolled my eyes. "Well, congratulations. Mission accomplished. Now can we get out of here?"

Mick nodded dumbly, and Beth followed after him. I grinned slightly. That ought to shut them both up for the rest of the day.

Unfortunately, I was mistaken. The minute we got into the car, Beth began yammering a mile a minute about, of all things, caroling. "No," protested Mick, sighing. "We are not caroling."

"Remember last time we celebrated Christmas?" I asked. "You, me and Coraline. We sang filthy Christmas carols until someone called the cops!"

"We only sang them because you didn't know the real lyrics," Mick replied.

"What songs did you sing?" Beth asked. Mick and I exchanged glances, then burst out laughing. "What? What's so funny?"

Mick finally stopped laughing long enough to explain. "Well, you'd probably only know one of the songs we sang. It's pretty popular now, too."

"What is it?"

Mick blushed slightly. "It's called—Josef, stop it!—Sorry. It's called 'I Saw Daddy Kissing Santa Claus'."

Beth blinked, then joined us laughing. "Okay," she giggled. "I see where that could be funny."

"If you want funny, you should have seen your face when I kissed Mick!"

Mick flushed several previously undiscovered shades of scarlet. "One day, Josef, you and I are going to look back on today, laugh nervously, and change the subject."


End file.
